King's Cross Station, December 1996
The first thing Harry saw through the steam was James's smile.
It cracked across his face the second their eyes met — too wide, too bright for the cold grey light settling over the platform, and it hit Harry square in the chest in a way that almost knocked the breath out of him. For a second, it felt like being twelve again, like nothing had shifted or darkened or fractured in the years between. Just his dad standing by the barrier, hands jammed into his coat pockets, grinning like he'd been waiting for this moment all month.
Next to him, Regulus stood straighter, sharp as ever in his charcoal wool coat. His scarf was knotted precisely at his throat, and his dark hair curled neatly behind his ears, but his eyes were softer, as they always were when they landed on Harry. There was a steadiness to him that didn't falter, even now. His lips curved, small and knowing, not quite a smile but something Harry had long since learned to recognise as affection.
It was stupid, but for a second, Harry's stomach twisted in relief. Home.
He hadn't realised how much he'd needed to see them until now.
He hoisted his trunk onto the platform, dragging it forward in uneven, impatient jerks until James was crossing the space between them and pulling him into a hug so tight Harry thought his ribs might splinter.
" There's my beautiful boy ," James murmured roughly into his hair, voice cracking just slightly at the edges. His arms were strong and warm and familiar. They always were. "Merlin, I missed you, kid."
Harry's throat tightened sharply. His fingers curled into the back of James's coat without quite meaning to.
Regulus cleared his throat softly behind them.
James eased back after a moment, cupping Harry's face between his hands as if he were still small enough to fit easily there. His eyes flickered back and forth, searching Harry's face with a smile that faltered, almost imperceptibly.
His thumbs brushed absently along Harry's jaw. "Bloody hell, you're taller than me now."
Harry huffed a laugh, but it was thin. It cracked at the end and vanished into the cold air too fast.
He stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair, and turned toward Regulus before James could say anything else.
Regulus didn't hesitate. His gloved hand lifted to settle on the back of Harry's neck, thumb pressing lightly just under his jaw in a gesture so familiar Harry could have folded under it. His expression was composed as ever, but Harry could see it, the crease between his brows, the way his lips parted slightly like he was about to speak and hadn't quite chosen the words.
"You look tired," Regulus said at last, voice low and even.
It wasn't a question.
"I'm alright," Harry lied automatically. The words rolled too fast and too flat to sound real.
Regulus's gaze narrowed, not sharp, but intent, and he didn't drop his hand.
James stepped in beside them again, shouldering Harry's trunk effortlessly. "C'mon. Let's get out of here. Reg made that stew you like and I promised we'd open the biscuits early this year."
Harry smiled. This time it landed better, warmer, less frayed. Regulus's hand lingered at the back of his neck the entire walk back toward the barrier. His thumb pressed, light and steady, as if he could smooth out whatever was twisting tight in Harry's chest.
He didn't say anything else.
Neither did James.
But as they walked, their eyes caught over Harry's head.
A silent understanding passed between them, practiced and wordless.
There's something off.
We'll figure it out.
We always do.